


Sinite Parvula

by thecityofthefireflies



Series: Inquisitor Maera and AUs [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, I do translate it for u tho, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Kid Inquisitor, Language Barrier, Latin used for tevene, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Qunari Children, Slavery, Team as Family, bc tevinter, besides me and the maker, so much latin, tagging it as characters appear, that way if I bail on this no one clicks and gets disappointed, whole gang is gonna show up eventually but I am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecityofthefireflies/pseuds/thecityofthefireflies
Summary: "The implications of a child who was clearly not a human mage, cringing and asking after a Tevinter Magister were grim.  Cassandra exchanged another desperate look with Leliana.  Again she found no absolution.  "Incredibly self-indulgent Kid Inquisitor fic. Yeehaw.  That's a trope at this point but most of those are elf or human kids so here's a hot take of a Qunari (former) slave from Tevinter and like falling out of that rift? best thing that ever happened to her
Series: Inquisitor Maera and AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595755
Comments: 43
Kudos: 187





	1. Cassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title "suffer the child" from this song [Suffer The Children](www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pPdhquNU94)  
> which i then realized its a bible verse so I looked at the original Greek but decided not to bring another language into this so then I looked at the ye olde church latin version of the verse and made it fem. singular and here we go
> 
> This is my first Dragon Age fic and most of my exposure is Fic (I've only played a little) (if u have any recs for playthroughs let me know) 
> 
> This is self indulgent so I will not be taking criticism. (kidding)
> 
> Bc I am a nightmare of a person I'm using Latin for Tevene bc I need it A Lot and I needed a consistent language to use. Also I """"know""""" latin allegedly

Cassandra’s mind and heart were churning with mixed feelings as she strode towards the Chantry basement the prisoner was held in, and her distaste for self doubt only increased her discomfort. She wanted, perhaps more desperately than would be objective, for this to be a clear matter of guilt and innocence. She wanted to have a culprit, a trial, and a sentencing so the ghosts plaguing her could have at least that much justice. 

The weak link crumbling that ideal scenario was their prisoner. She was young. Cassandra could not say how young, as the girl was Qunari and had the height that endowed, but her proportions were childlike, her goat-like horns barely grown in, and her face round and soft. The current speculation was that she was some youth brainwashed or forced into being a tool in someone else’s scheme. The idea of an indoctrinated child soldier was distasteful, but better than the thought that someone so young could kill so many. 

Leliana had investigated and she was not associated with Adaar of the mercenary band contacted about the Conclave. But they may not have listed a child tagging along. It was a messy, uncomfortable situation that could not be remedied until the girl explained herself. The apostate seemed certain she would survive, but Solas had yet to earn Cassandra’s confidence. However in this it seemed he was right. 

The girl was awake and kneeling, not quite looking at them but glancing demurely at their boots, head bowed. 

“The Conclave was destroyed, everyone who was there died except for you. What do you have to say for yourself.” Cassandra began, feeling her anger, always a smouldering spark these days, blaze anew. The girl flinched but still did not look, cringing and raising her hands slightly, speaking in a frantic mewling tone. 

“ _ Domina, ubi Magistrum Orthrus est?”  _

Cassandra paused, anger gradually giving way to growing dread. She looked at Leliana, hoping for her to deny the emerging thought but was met with a gaze holding the same worry. 

“What?” She said almost breathless. The girl glanced up again, alarm in her large eyes. Cow-eyed, the part of Cassandra’s mind that was filled with the descriptions from novels supplied, and she quashed that thought as almost offensive directed at a Qunari. 

“ _ Domina.”  _ She began, slower and with gravity. “ _ Magistrum Orthrus, ubi est? Serva sum,et mihi imperat. Quid faciam?”  _

At Cassandra’s continued confusion, the girl’s brow furrowed and her eyes darted around as she thought - each word a deliberate effort.

“ _ Domina _ , Magister Orthrus, who -  _ non -  _ where he is?” 

The implications of a child who was clearly not a human mage, cringing and asking after a Tevinter Magister were grim. She exchanged another desperate look with Leliana. Again she found no absolution. The girl had been a slave. That complicated blame even if this girl had set whatever bomb had destroyed the chantry. Under harsh orders or the thrall of blood magic, the guilt could not rest on someone used cruelly as a tool. 

“I do not know of the whereabouts of a Magister Orthrus.” Leliana said slowly, with exaggerated expression and a shake of her head. Even if they did know where this Tevinter Magister was, he would be run through with a sword, rather than lay hands on this girl again. Comprehension was clear in the girl’s eyes, but her frown deepened. 

“ _ Haec sine mandatum ab eo facites ? _ ” That comment was more of a frightened mutter. 

“Do you speak Common?” Cassandra asked, already anticipating the answer. Of course this was as complicated as possible. 

“I am sorry. Minimum Common I speak. I am sorry.” The girl meant her apologies, her hands clenching and tone pleading. Cassandra sighed and softened her expression. Clearly she was another victim, rather than the monster behind this. Inquiries about Nevarran, Orlaisan, and Antivan were met with blank eyed negations. 

Cassandra again looked to Leliana. 

“We may as well show her the breach, if the mark is the key to closing it, what choice do we have?” Leliana grimaced but nodded. 

“Come on, up.” Cassandra gentled her tone as much as she could against the tightness in her chest, and fumbled with the keys to unshackle the girl. There were no new abrasions, but there were ragged marks of pink scar tissue already circling her grey wrists that churned Cassandra’s stomach. She stood when Cassandra pulled her up by the bicep. Her head bowed again, but even upright, her horntips did not reach the top of Cassandra’s shoulders. She tugged her outside. 

It was unsettling, the way the girl moved as directed with only the slightest pressure, not a limp ragdoll, but malleable, instinctively following Cassandra’s direction with no physical resistance or tenseness of the not insubstantial muscles under her gloves. Cassandra did not like that this girl let herself be shoved about like a breathing doll. 

They made it out onto the snow, and Cassandra hoped that the rumors of Qunari running hot were true, as the girl’s clothing were a thin orange dress and leather sandals that were decidedly unsuited for the weather. Cassandra’s conscience grumbled again at her and she barked an order that sent a nearby guard running for a spare blanket or cloak from the quartermaster’s supplies. The girl was still staring down at the snow, ignoring or unaware of the green rip in the sky. 

Cassandra hoped that like most people, the girl understood more of a language than she could generate to speak herself. She gingerly tipped the girl’s chin and pointed her searching gaze towards the Breach. 

The girl stared at the hole in the sky with an appropriate amount of horror. Cassandra grabbed her glowing hand and held it before her as well. The Breach pulsed, and the mark on her hand convulsed in sync. Solas had warned that the mark was likely painful but the girl did not react beyond tensing the offending arm. 

“We think the Breach can be closed using the mark on your hand.” She said this evenly, pointing at the corresponding components as she mentioned them. 

“I am sorry! I did not, I don’t  _ nescio quid feci.  _ I am sorry!” The girl was shrill and panicked, pleading yet again. Cassandra clutched at her, running a hand down her arm and attempting to be soothing. 

“No! Shhh, we know it wasn’t you. Not you. Shhh…” After a moment the tension left the girl, and she went limp-limbed and overly docile. 

“I am sorry,  _ Domina _ ” She said again. This seemed to be the one phrase she was comfortable saying in Common. Cassandra cleared her throat and tried again. 

“We want you to  **help** seal -close -stop - the Breach, with your hand.” She said it slower this time, with pantomime and gesture for nearly every word. The girl stayed calm, nearly frozen in motionlessness as she concentrated on Cassandra’s words, her eyes clear and comprehending. “Can - would - you help us?” 

“I will help the Breach stop.” The girl said, forming each word carefully. Cassandra nodded and attempted something of a smile. 

The guard who had responded to her order returned, jogging up with a blanket and a plain cloak pin. 

“Apologies Ser, this was all that could be spared.” 

“It will do. Thank you.” Cassandra took the blanket, a loose-woven brown mottled with grass stains and a ragged hole trailing thread in one corner. She unfurled it and doubled the top third over for warmth, then she draped it over the girl’s shoulders. She stood still, accepting Cassandra’s machinations without reaction. Cassandra felt oddly self-conscious as she crowded in to punch the fabric onto the shaft and twist the pin on the frame. 

“There.” She patted the now covered shoulders and stepped back. At least the girl suffering from exposure wouldn’t be on her conscience. 

The crowd on the path out of Haven was not as large as Cassandra feared it may be, but it was angry and vocal enough to add to the ever-increasing guilt twisting into a knot in her gut. She did not have time to deal with those feelings - the world did not have time. 

“They are upset and looking for someone to blame. Pay them no mind.” She said quietly to the girl, regardless of her comprehension, perhaps the tone of her voice would be enough. She looped an arm around the girl’s blanketed shoulders and hauled her onward, striding quickly to get through the crowd and out onto the path. Better to remove her from the enraged masses before either they got more aggressive or the girl too affected. 

They made it to the bridge successfully. And then fortune was yet again without favor. The aged stonework, likely shaken loose from the Conclave’s destruction, gave way beneath their feet. 

Neither of them seemed more than winded and bruised from the fall, but Cassandra had scarcely heaved herself upright and glanced back to make sure the girl was also getting to her feet when the demons advanced. 

It was a challenging fight. Not beyond Cassandra’s abilities, but there were multiple opponents to keep track of, the ice offered little traction, and she had a prisoner to keep alive. 

A shade had taken a moment longer than Cassandra calculated to beat back and when she finally had a chance to turn and check on her charge she felt a surge of something more than adrenaline. A demon was far too close to the girl for Cassandra to run there in time. She readied her sword to throw, always a dangerous move, but better to cut the girl with an accidental blade than to watch her die from inaction. 

But before Cassandra let her weapon fly, the demon dissipated into smoke and ash. The girl was holding a sword in a decently executed lunge that had pierced it through the middle. 

Cassandra barely had time to step forward to collect her charge, relieved she wasn’t completely helpless, when the girl flung the sword with a clatter, dropping to her knees with hands raised and wrists together as if to be bound.

“I’m sorry,  _ Domina _ ,  _ mihi ignosce.” _

Cassandra sighed, feeling a weariness set in heavily. She knelt and picked up the sword in one hand and pulled the girl up to her feet with the other. She pressed the sword-hilt into her hands and clasped them around it. 

“I want you to stay alive. Use this on demons when I cannot protect you.” The girl likely did not understand all of that, but she kept the sword in her grasp when Cassandra removed her hands and that was enough for her. 

“ _ Ad libitum, Domina. _ ” The girl said, an automatic reply. Cassandra paused. 

“My title is Seeker. Not Domina. See-kher” Cassandra had no wish to be addressed like some silk-wrapped Tevinter lady. 

“ _ Ad libitum,  _ Seeker.” It was new syllables carrying the same servile tone. Cassandra felt her frustration with the entire situation rekindle and turned around. There was no time for this. She began hiking towards the rift again, only glancing back to make sure the girl, holding the spare sword, was still following. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Cassandra, it's gonna take more than that to get her to Warm Up to you. get it bc cloak  
> [I posted art on my tumblr](https://tarantula-hawk-wasp.tumblr.com/post/189388172256/what-if-instead-of-writing-i-post-art-for-my-own)
> 
> Translations (which i considered not including to make u as confused as cassandra but )  
> “Magistrum Orthrus, ubi est? Serva sum,et mihi imperat. Quid faciam?”  
> Where is Magister Orthrus? I am a slave, and he is in charge of me. What did I do?
> 
> “Haec sine mandatum ab eo facites"  
> You do this without an order from him?
> 
> nescio quid feci.  
> I dont know what I did
> 
> mihi ignosce  
> forgive me 
> 
> Ad libitum  
> as you wish 
> 
> If you know more latin than me and have suggestions for improvements please let me know 
> 
> I tried to use my own experience learning languages and reversing what I struggled with going from eng to latin to make a more realistic struggle with conversation? but that's not my field of expertise tbh 
> 
> I hope things were not too OOC, I feel that the language barrier would heavily modify ingame conversations. Also tbh in my weeks of daydreaming about this I kind of glossed over the very initial dungeon start so writing this was very organic and Cassandra ended up being nicer than I may have planned bc she's a good intelligent person with morals and was literally spared herself as a child by not being implicated in the actions of her parents so anyways.


	2. Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw kids It's rift time babey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep this in character but I feel like the fact I am incredibly gay for Cassandra bleeds through
> 
> Some dialogue taken from the game but I still feel that the language barrier changes quite a bit.

This rift wasn’t particularly worse than any of the other lesser rifts, but it was near enough to Haven that it warranted a continuous rotation of capable soldiers to ensure that none of the demons strayed any closer. The endless nature of the rifts was the problem. Kill these demons and more would be spat out in a matter of minutes. There were no sustainable solutions. 

Normally, Varric did not associate the appearance of the good lady Seeker with a feeling of relief, but today she was not alone and Solas had filled him in on his theory about the glowing mark on their hike from Haven. He hoped the apostate was right, and that maybe this marked prisoner could offer some aid against the Breach. 

The Seeker seemed frustrated, which was a welcome change from the outright angry she had been for the last few days once she barrelled through the grief part of grieving. 

The figure dogging the Seeker’s steps was covered in a blanket-turned cloak, a common fashion statement among the refugees, and holding a sword. Not defenseless, which was good, but not making any offensive moves against the demons -so, inexperienced. He got a long glimpse at the figure and  _ Maker _ .

He knew that the prisoner was Qunari. And he knew that the prisoner was “young”. He had pictured some towering twenty-year-old, face uncreased by lines, skin smooth, but tall and capable. He combined the girl’s proportions, the baby-fat on her cheeks, and the height of the adult Qunari he had seen in Kirkwall and felt more than a little sick. His estimations, which he wished he was not automatically making, placed her at a pre-teen. An actual kid getting dragged into all this. 

He changed his strategy for the rest of the fight. His bolts focused on providing coverage and backup for Cassandra and her charge, rather than balancing the distribution. Solas was a big boy and a capable mage and could fend for himself. 

Solas himself reached the girl first. Not taking the time to speak, he simply seized her hand and held it up to the rift. The girl let him, dropping the sword she had been holding. The rift shuddered, a stream of green light connecting the mark on her hand and the guttering slash in the sky. The air crackled, Varric felt every hair on his body prickle and there was a reek of ozone. 

And then the tension released. The girl whimpered, the noise standing apart from the grind of the rift. The rift pulsed and then collapsed in on itself, snapping shut, the demons withered away, and the air returned to normal. It was nothing short of miraculous. The girl did not pull free from the grip Solas had on her arm, but when he released it, she clutched the limb to her chest. 

“What?” The girl said, eyeing Solas warily under pale lashes.

“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake. It might even work on the Breach itself.” Solas spoke, lighting up with the enthusiasm he held only for lengthy explanations. 

“She may not understand you.” The Seeker said, sheathing her sword and walking up to the girl, laying a hand on her shoulder. The girl craned her head searchingly at the woman, and to Varric’s surprise, the Seeker forced the ever-present glare from her face when she looked at the girl. “She does not speak much Common.” 

“Well, what does she speak?” Varric interjected, strolling over to join their cluster. 

“Tevene.” 

“Shit.” Varric gave the girl another once-over, reevaluating. The posture, the downcast eyes, the bodily deference to being moved and grabbed - it was far more akin to Orana in the early years than it was Fenris. And to think they had worried a Vashoth survivor was going to be complicated. Varric dredged up every scrap of Tevene he had picked up over the years and touched her elbow to drag her gaze up from the trampled snow. 

“Varric  _ sum _ .” He said clearly, jabbing a thumb at his chest and aiming for a friendly, but not overeager, smile. 

“Solas.” At least the apostate caught on quickly. The Seeker sighed and tapped her own armor. “Cassandra.” 

The girl looked between them and after a long, contemplative pause, gestured to herself. “Maera.” 

“Well,  _ avanna  _ Maera.” She returned his smile this time, just a hint of it, when she glanced back up at him before returning her gaze to the ground. 

“ _ Avanna _ .” She sounded skeptical, likely guessing that he wasn’t conversational, but it was a start. The lady Seeker cleared her throat, looking an uncomfortable blend of apologetic and frustrated, instead of the usual simple aggravation. 

“We need to move on.” The Seeker nudged the girl away from them, back towards the path and the staging ground. Varric stepped forward boldly, hefting Bianca against his shoulder. 

“Yes,  **we** do.” 

The Seeker scoffed. “Absolutely not, your help is appreciated Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need my help. I can help cover the girl. It’d be better than you protecting her alone.” 

The Seeker scoffed again, somehow sounding even more disgusted than before, and threw up her hands, but she turned and began striding away. 

The girl dithered, wringing her hands and looking hesitantly between the ground by Varric’s feet and the ground by the Seeker’s. Varric forced a cough. The Seeker turned, frowning before softening her face slightly with a sigh. 

“Come along, Maera.” She said with more patience than Varric previously thought her capable of. The girl took a step towards her, and the Seeker held up a hand to stop her, walking back. “Bring the sword with you.” 

Maera stared blankly at her, eyes wide, but making no move towards the blade lying near their feet. The Seeker stooped and picked it up, pressing it into the girl’s grasp and shaking the blade a little, reiterated. “Sword.” 

“Sw-ord.” Maera repeated quietly. The Seeker nodded and stepped away. 

“Good. Now come along.” The Seeker began walking again. 

“ _ Ad libitum, Domi-  _ Seeker.” This time the girl trotted after her. Varric and Solas exchanged a glance and followed as well. At least the Seeker had given Varric an idea for how to pass the time and maybe make things a bit less miserable for the girl. 

He jogged up next to her and stooped to swipe up a handful of untrodden snow. He held it out to her. 

“Hey Maera, you know what this is? This is Snow. Sn-ohw.” She looked blandly at him, then extended a finger to prod the cold handful. 

“Snow.” She repeated dubiously, and Varric smiled. 

They kept that up for the rest of the walk. Solas joined in and they covered “snow” “dirt” “tree” “staff” “boots” “crossbow” “mountain” “shirt” “pants” “belt” and a number of body parts. Even the good Seeker contributed “Shield” and “braid” and “armor”. 

They ran into a few demons on the way, and the girl, although tense, had pulled out her weapon without prompting and with a quiet mutter of “sword” to herself. The Seeker ordered her to stay with Solas and Varric, and the elf kept a hand on her shoulder until it was clear she understood. The girl ended up never needing to fight. The three of them were capable already, but there was a heightened drive of ensuring no demon came anywhere near her. She was a child and Varric would be damned if he let anything hurt her more than that mark already was, and life already had, and he suspected his companions held similar sentiments. 

By the time they reached the gates to the bridge,Varric felt accomplished in not only enhancing her vocabulary, but also that Maera was looking at his chest level, rather than his boots, and had smiled more than a few times. Varric was trying not to think about Solas’s earlier theory that the Mark and the Breach might kill her. It was a paltry consolation but at least she had been happy for a few moments. 

“Ah, here they come.” 

That contentedness faded when they reached the forward camp. Leliana had smiled pleasantly enough when she began her introduction, but Chancellor Roderick was there as well. 

“I know what she is, as Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!” 

Chancellor Roderick had never been in Varric’s good books. It wasn’t on account of him being a devout Chantry man, Varric had gotten along well enough with Sebastian back in Kirkwall, but it was the ever-present aura of smug authority. He was now very thoroughly engraving himself into Varric’s shit list - he scared the girl.

And Maker’s Mercy, the girl looked ready to kneel right there, lifting her hands in trembling supplication. But before her legs bent to meet the stones the Seeker shoved her behind her, stepping forward angrily. 

“Order me?! You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat.” 

Varric did not pay much attention to the shouting match between the slighted Seeker and the Chancellor, letting the words wash away into the background. Instead he clasped a loose hand around Maera’s shaking elbow and unknit her clenching fingers with his other. 

She clammed back up into her shell, looking just as servile and withdrawn as she had before the first rift. Varric felt a growing hatred for the man and from the look on the Seeker’s face she had noticed as well and added it to her own ire. He held her hands and supported her when the Breach spasmed again along with the Mark on her hand, her arm tensing in his grip. 

There was little point in debating which path to take to get to the temple. The Seeker and Leliana quickly realized that there was no way they could guarantee Maera’s safety crossing the open valley with the troops, and that while the mountain passes harbored unknown risk, any danger would be coming from one of two directions, rather than surrounding them. 

Back on the snowy paths again and away from Chancellor Roderick, some of the tension melted away. Varric started the word game up again, repeating some of the vocabulary before coaxing Maera to supply the words when he pointed at the object. Speaking lit the faintest spark in her that was not present otherwise. It wasn’t necessarily surprising. Fenris had sourly informed them all that good slaves were seen and not heard, and the best were neither seen nor heard unless asked for. Being prompted to talk hopefully was breaking her out of the serving mindset, as difficult as that was around the language barrier. But with each new word she correctly remembered she had a quiet triumph that was incredibly endearing. 

With Solas’s participation Varric maintained an enthusiasm that buoyed them up the “ladders” and into the “tunnel”. The Seeker was quiet, either contemplating her guilt regarding the girl, or maintaining a more visibly manifested alertness than the rest of them. 

They faced another rift, Maera was instructed again to stay near Varric or Solas and to focus on using the Mark. This time she was forced to hack at a demon with a few desperate strikes before Solas could turn his attention to freezing it. She cried out when she closed this rift, garnering concern from all of them. 

“Mark  _ est _ …  _ dolor peius est…” _ Varric could only assume she was trying to explain that the Mark was hurting more now. Solas approached and lit his hand up with healing magic. She tensed, motionless, but let him cast it on her. Before the elf said anything Varric could tell from his frustration that there was nothing more he could do. 

“I am sorry, but there is nothing physical to heal.” Solas had said, quietly sincere. The girl nodded slightly before hunching in on herself again. 

At least there were a few survivors from the missing patrol. It was briefly awkward, trying to redirect the Lieutenant’s gratitude away from Maera’s lack of comprehension, but the Seeker sent the survivors away with new orders and they were able to move on. 

Varric couldn’t decide if he was more relieved or concerned that the girl did not seem overly disturbed by the bodies they encountered in the tunnel or at the ruins of the temple. Yes, she paled and seemed caught between averting her eyes and staring, but she was not vomiting or sobbing or petrified. On the one hand, it was greatly more convenient that they did not have to blindfold her to keep her from becoming hysterical at the sight of them, but on the other hand it was troubling to know she was used to bloodshed and death enough at her age to not be utterly horrified. He could only assume it was because she was from Tevene and accustomed to the aftermath of blood magic. 

Varric is not a fan of the “echoes of the Fade” spilling out of the Breach, nor of the voices ringing in the air. And especially not of the Red Lyrium cropping up along the path. He issued a warning to the group and pulled the girl away from it. The Red Lyrium could be addressed later, when they survived this. 

“Keep the sacrifice still” Maera flinched and stumbled, looking about wildly for the source of the voice. 

“Someone help me!” Came from another direction. The Seeker looked stricken. They quickly established that Divine Justinia’s voice and the other were echoes of the past, but Varric had no idea how much of the explanation Maera had followed, agitated as she seemed. Of course, things took a worse turn when the language switched. 

“ _ Domine, quid facis?”  _

The Seeker rounded on the girl, desperation for answers warring with her deliberate patience with the girl. She seized her shoulders, staring at her searchingly. 

“That was your voice, Most Holy called out to you!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I can’t  _ reminiscor _ ” The girl was frantically shaking her head. 

“Seeker…” Varric started warningly, preparing to step in. But the Seeker sighed, her grip lessening. The Mark flared and the voices continued, now with images. The Divine Justinia, held fast by swirling magic and Maera, frightened but staring, and a third figure cloaked in shadow. 

“Run while you can! Warn them!” Divine Justinia pleaded, but there was no comprehension in the wispy face of the girl. Instead she turned to the larger figure and repeated herself. 

“ _ Domine, quid facis?”  _

_ “Abi, vilia serva.”  _ The reply was harsh, tone cruel, and both the Maera in the vision and the one in the Seeker’s grasp cowered. “ **_Nihil_ ** _ vides, serva.”  _

_ “Sed...ei noces, vetus mulier ecclesiae…”  _ The fade Maera gathered some courage it seemed, bringing her head back up to question that chilling authority, even if her tone was pleading rather than demanding. 

_ “Tace!”  _ That was a barking command and a new stream of magic turned on the girl and she shrieked, dropping to her knees with a sob that turned into a keening whimper and she fell forward, her hand reaching for something on the floor. 

The fade echo subsided. Maera was shaking, face twisted in distress. The Seeker’s grip had changed during the vision from clamping her shoulders when she demanded information to supporting her, hands around her biceps. The Seeker looked as deeply troubled by that exchange as Varric felt. 

“Was… was that man your master?” The Seeker asked levelly. Maera shook her head desperately. 

“No. No. No- a magister, but not  **mine** . He… I have…  _ eum timeo _ ” 

“Do you know his name?- what he is called?” Again she shook her head. The Seeker sighed again. “At least we have something.” 

The Seeker kept her hands on Maera while Solas explained that they must reopen and close the Breach. He repeats it again, slower and with less scholastic vocabulary until Maera seems to truly understand. 

The Seeker did not simply release the girl yet. First she ran her hands down her arms, bowing her own head. 

“I am sorry.” The Seeker said, nearly choking with sincerity. The girl trembled but shook a hand free of the blanket cloak and clasped the Seeker’s forearm. 

“I will help Breach stop” She said with determination Varric could not help being impressed by. The Seeker nodded shakily and stepped away. Solas came forward, running a hand over the Mark with finality and smiled with pressed lips at her. Varric took his turn, patting her on the arm. 

“You’ll do fine, kid.” 

He hated that they all could only ignore the druffalo in the room. That Solas had theorized a strong possibility that using the Mark to this extent could kill her. That they were asking her to die for them when she had only just gained freedom that she seemed to barely understand _.  _ Were they as bad as blood mage magisters? Sacrificing her to a fuel a greater magic’s cause? 

“Stay near Varric. Concentrate on the rift” The Seeker again instructed. Maera nodded and stepped close. Varric smiled at her, burying his culpability deep to make it sincere. 

Connecting the mark to reopen the rift was fast, Maera did not even grimace at this, but did gasp in fear when the massive pride demon came through. The fight took a lot of concentration. Varric had to balance firing bolts at the demon, keeping Maera moving out of the range of that electric whip, and giving her opportunities to connect the Mark to the rift and weaken both it and the demon. Her increasing pain pulled at his chest in a way that distracted him more than any flashbomb. 

The first few times she connected were stoic. Then came the whimpers, and finally, once the demon was nearly defeated and she could really concentrate, the connection increased. The green stream of light pulsed and thickened, engulfing her arm. She brought her other hand up to grasp it. Varric dropped Bianca. He wrapped his arms around the girl from behind, keeping her propped up and supported. The whimpers became a whine and then her face crumpled suddenly and she howled a ragged, wretched cry. Her knees gave out and Varric took her weight, lowering with her as she slumped. The Breach flared blindingly and her scream increased before both the light and the noise ceased completely. She was limp in his arms. 

Varric fumbled for her neck, struggling with his gloves, desperate for a pulse. The Seeker and the apostate ran over. The Seeker approached but held back, hand over her mouth in horror. 

“Is she…” 

“No.” Solas was kneeling across from Varric, hands glowing over Maera’s head and chest and hand. “She yet lives. She is unconscious, but the Mark is somehow stabilized. She is in less danger of dying now from it than she was before attempting to close it.”

“Thank the Maker.” The Seeker said breathlessly. She sheathed her sword and strapped her shield to her back. Then she replaced Solas in crouching before him, and Varric reluctantly released the girl into taller arms. The Seeker rose, an arm under Maera’s back and legs, and clutched the girl to her breastplate. 

The Seeker carried the girl back to Haven with determined steps, her face rapturous with pleading reverence. The walk was silent, a pilgrimage and a vigil for the unconscious savior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art on my Tumblr [My Blog](https://tarantula-hawk-wasp.tumblr.com/post/189842818496/relgious-iconography-in-my-herald-of-andraste)
> 
> Translations 
> 
> Ad libitum  
> As you wish 
> 
> Mark est… dolor peius est  
> The Mark is… the pain is worse
> 
> “Domine, quid facis?”  
> O Lord, What are you doing?
> 
> “Abi, vilia serva.”  
> Go away, vile/lowly slave
> 
> Nihil vides, serva.”  
> You saw nothing, slave
> 
> “Sed...ei noces, vetus mulier ecclesiae…”  
> But… you are hurting her, an old woman of the church…
> 
> Tace  
> Silence! 
> 
> eum timeo  
> I fear him
> 
> the hard part about next chapter is figuring out whose POV to use


	3. Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine ponders the herald while working on the many logistics of starting an inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has garnered more attention than expected which makes me nervous but like uhh im writing this for my own amusement 
> 
> im gay for cassandra and im gay for josephine and i lowkey ship them but that isn't the focus of this fic at all  
> also it's not relevant to the fic but no one is cishet except roderick bc i say so

Josephine had not yet met their prisoner-turned-savior. The days following the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes had passed in a haze of damage control, reorganization, and grief. Then, when the prisoner had awoken and the attempt on the Breach made, Josephine had still been in Haven with the other noncombatants. She had joined the sparse crowd of merchants and spouses to watch as the green rip in the sky guttered and rippled wildly before collapsing in on itself, leaving only a glowing mass, rather than a threatening tear. 

She did not see the bearer of the Mark until Cassandra strode back into Haven, arms filled with limp limbs and a dangling ponytail of grimy white curls. The murmuring crowds had parted in a wave of silent reverence for the stony faced Seeker. 

They put the poor girl in an empty cabin near the Chantry. At this immediate point finding willing servants would have been a wasteful expenditure of time and there was no consensus yet on how confidential this whole matter was, so the arrangements had been done by their de-facto leadership group. Varric held the door for Cassandra and made sure the girl’s head did not strike it when the Seeker angled her way in. There was a solemn lack of complaint from any of the group. 

Josephine herself quickly shook out the dusty quilts with the help of the elven apostate. They laid the girl on the bed and Solas cast another session of healing magic on her while Varric fumbled with the straps of her sandals. 

Commander Cullen arrived, keeping his distance by the doorway with his muddy boots and breastplate still splattered in ichor and blood. He stared dumbstruck at the girl on the bed, mouth open to begin his report. Josephine could empathize. The bed was a fairly standard double, the kind your average Ferelden couple would own, and the limp girl looked woefully small on it in a way she had not in Cassandra’s arms. 

The commander exchanged a look with Varric, who nodded, frowned, and then began his report on the successes and casualties of the forces in the valley and requested the Seeker’s side of the story. His speech was directed primarily at Leliana and Cassandra, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bed. His face was open in its discomfort the way Josephine was sure they all were with the situation. 

Solas concluded his examination and announced solemnly that the girl was not likely to wake up any time soon. It could be anything from hours to days. But the mark on her hand was stabilized and no longer an immediate danger to her life. 

The daily care of the unconscious girl was assigned to a chantry sister who had worked in the infirmary and one of Leliana’s agents who she knew had raised three of their own children to adulthood. People that could be trusted with the knowledge of the girl’s origins and could competently bathe and dress a limp and sick child. 

The items that had been found on the girl when she had first emerged from the rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been examined by Leliana. The lyrium potions she had been carrying were decidedly not for her own benefit and had been examined for quality and added to the mages’ supply. The rest of the contents of the belt pouch had been the effects of a child. There was a loop of colorful yarn the appropriate length for Cat’s Cradle, a spinning top, a handful of colorful, smooth, or unusual rocks, a piece of sea glass, and a small rigid wooden doll with a painted face and a dress made out of black and silver silk. It was relieving to know that despite her origins the girl had at least played with some toys. The pouch was repacked and left on the table beside the bed. The doll was tucked under the sleeping girl’s arm. 

After arrangements were made and those not present when the girl had been sealing rifts were filled in with the barebones story, there was little else discussed on that eventful day. All of them were simply too exhausted. That first night after the stabilization of the Breach lay heavily on Haven. The sudden lack of immediate danger and fading adrenaline meant that even the tavern’s lights were snuffed out early, with the entire population not assigned a nightwatch getting their first good sleep since before the explosion. Tomorrow - and it was wonderful to have a guaranteed tomorrow to look forward to - would be a day of celebration and rowdy recovery. 

It was that second night that Varric requested an audience with the group of them. He had grimly suggested either meeting in the Tavern, or at least bringing a bottle because “I’ve known a few people in situations like the kid’s and I’ve got some advice - but this is a conversation you’re going to want a drink with.” 

Surprisingly, it was Commander Cullen who vouched for Varric’s expertise against the Seeker’s scoff. Although perhaps that was less unexpected considering that both of them came on the same ship from Kirkwall. 

And so their rather eclectic group ended up seated around a scuffed wooden table holding a variety of tankards and bottles and looking expectantly at Varric, seated in their midst.    
The dwarf quaffed a good portion of his ale, sighed, wiped his mouth, and then began. 

“Right, well, you likely already know that I was a close associate of the Champion of Kirkwall.” He and Cassandra exchanged a significant look, “Another close associate of the Champion was    
Fenris, a rather brooding, quick-tempered escaped slave, and not all of this might apply, because Fenris was an adult when I met him, and Maera is a child. I don’t know how old, but I’ve seen adult Qunari in Kirkwall and the kid’s got a few feet of growing to do and a dozen stone to gain.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t tell in the- well in the shadows of the dungeon- but compared to any of the Arishok’s people…” Cullen affirmed, trailing off with a sigh. 

Varric told them very abbreviated histories of Fenris and the encounter with Hadriana, either to expediate the evening, or out of consideration to the privacy of the subject. He detailed meeting Orana. He warned them to make sure the girl was shown where to get meals and to make sure she ate, as Orana had fainted after three days at the Hawke estate because no one told her she was allowed to eat the very food she was preparing. He warned that the girl might be illiterate. That she might need some small tasks to occupy her time because having nothing to do might make her anxious. He ended with some final collective advice. 

“ She might hate mages. She might be eager to help and easy to take advantage of. She might be afraid of humans, or humans of a specific gender. Hopefully she has the individuals who hurt her categorized separately enough to realize that we don’t mean her harm. Someone has taken care of her in the past, if she has a few toys and isn’t malnourished. Which is good, ‘cause we might not have to completely start from scratch with things like what hugs are. 

Really the best thing to do is be patient. It’s hard to know what her reactions will be, but patience certainly won’t hurt. And if you need to be expedient, explain what is going on instead of just yanking her around like a ragdoll. Even if she doesn’t understand every word, she may at least understand that you’re trying to communicate.” This comment was paired with a more significant glance at Solas and Cassandra. Then Varric downed the dregs of his drink and sighed, joining all of them in a stony contemplation. 

The next day passed as well, the girl yet slept, and there was nothing for it but time. Josephine and the others were certainly kept busy organizing and issuing orders and fielding the inquiries of concerned parties ranging from nobles to farmers. 

Josephine caught a glimpse of the newly awakened girl as she was escorted through the Chantry by the scout of Leliana’s that was assigned to watch her. They were guiding her quickly with their arm around her shoulders and shielding her from most of the stares of spectators. 

Josephine had not been required to be in the room while Chancellor Roderick berated Cassandra and Leliana with more accusations of overstepping the orders of the late Divine. Now she regretted her absence, as the shouting after Maera entered carried beyond the doorway into the Chantry nave. Only moments after the girl entered, a pair of guards stepped out. The shouting continued until the Chancellor himself stormed out looking particularly irate. 

Josephine happened to make eye contact with Leliana through the doorway - left ajar in the Chancellor’s wake. She was beckoned inside. As she walked in, the scout that had escorted Maera stepped out, walking with purpose. 

“I’ve sent for the Commander. We may as well start this without delay.” Leliana said levelly. Josephine spied the hefty book deliberately placed on the table. 

“So I see we’re really going through with it. Restarting the Inquisition.” 

“Yes. I could see no other course of action.” Cassandra said, an almost stubborn defiance daring for this decision to be questioned. She stood off to the side now, a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Josephine met Cassandra’s gaze and nodded, trying to convey her support. The Seeker sighed and some of the rigidity left her. 

“Maera,” She began, hunching a little to be more on a level with the girl. “This is Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, she handles politics and the nobles.” 

“Hello Maera.” Josephine said brightly, smiling gently. She thought both of meeting her siblings’ friends and of interviewing for waitstaff, the balance of appearing friendly without being patronizing. 

“Hello  _ Domina  _ Montilyet.” The girl said shyly, not quite looking at her. Cassandra sighed and the girl flinched. Josephine looked up at the seeker, startled, but she was distracted. Cassandra turned Maera to face her, free hand now turning the girl’s cheek to meet her gaze. 

“You don’t use that for her either. Not  _ Domina _ . You do not use that title for anyone.” Cassandra gulped around a choked voice. “Josephine’s title is Ambassador, or Lady.” 

“That’s right. Lady Josephine would suffice.” Josephine stepped closer with a suggestion that would be sufficiently informal while still containing a title. The girl stepped away from the hand on her face and turned to Josephine. 

“Lady Josephine.” She repeated without inflection. Josephine kept her smile, increasing it in response to the grateful look Cassandra shot her. 

Leliana moved forward and almost as an afterthought, Cassandra gestured to her as well. 

“Leliana is our Spymaster.” Cassandra ignored Leliana’s criticism of the bluntness of that statement. “Chantry Sister is also an appropriate title for her.” 

Leliana’s introduction was ended by Cullen’s arrival. He hurried in, still catching his breath from the walk from the training ground with his cheeks pinked by the cold and wind. 

“And, this is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” The Commander managed a smile for the girl. 

“Hello young one, Maera, was it?” 

“Yes, Commander.” Maera said, no less shy to an armored man than Josephine in her frippery. Which at least meant as advisors they were in something of an equal standing. 

Cassandra decided that Maera need not stand around while they worked out the details of  _ how _ to start an Inquisition. She recalled the scout they were borrowing and directed them to offer Maera food and a bath in her cabin. 

After the girl was escorted away, a silence lingered, each of them in their own thoughts. Cullen broke it first, sighing and running a gauntlet through his hair. 

“Maker, she really is…” He trailed off with a vague gesture of his hand. 

“Young? Shy? Groomed for servitude?” Leliana finished for him, more harshly than warranted. “Despite this, she is what we must form an Inquisition around.” 

“She  _ has _ improved since her time in our cellars.” Cassandra said defensively. 

It was an uncomfortable reality that they had to plan around. They spent hours paging through the writ. It was not new information, but they had to ensure that they did not markedly overstep the bounds set by the writ. They could read between the lines and they could perhaps expand upon implied powers, but they could not contradict the text without undermining their own authority and creating a weak-point for their currently numerous political enemies to attack. 

It took more than a day. Josephine wrote and sent many letters asking for support, alliance, and aid. Leliana sent ravens out to inquire about both the Rebel Mages and the Templars. Cullen handled the public posting of the official declaration. The Divine may have died, but her dream for a force for peace would yet live. 

With the Inquisition formally founded, it now needed a direction to act. The debates about how to close the breach were circular and without resolution. There were too many unknown factors in either option and too little political sway to make a decision regardless. 

For want of a judicial party, they decided to seek Maera’s opinion. If they were to be morally superior to the previous directors of her life, then they couldn’t just lead her around blindly. She was the one being asked to risk her life most directly. 

So she once again was escorted to the War Room. She had been given multiple sets of clothing of different styles to allow her to dress in her preference. Josephine wondered if she had perhaps misunderstood the combinations suggested, or feared that the unused clothes would be taken away. Or perhaps she was just cold in this southern clime. But Maera was wearing thick leggings and a long sleeve blouse underneath a flowing rose over-dress that was intended to be a separate outfit, and still had a cloak pinned over her shoulders. The blanket that Cassandra had improvised that first day had long been replaced with an intact garment that was more befitting a saviour. 

Neither Josephine, nor the other advisors had seen much of Maera since the day she awoke. Planning the Inquisition had been consuming work. Apparently Cassandra had been taking some meals with her and Varric had been keeping her company during the day. Josephine resolved to find time for at least a meal or two with the girl. It would behoove all of them to have a positive relationship. 

Cassandra had handled outlining the complications of closing the Breach before bringing Maera back to the War Room, so they could move quickly to discussing options. 

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.” Cassandra prompted the room at large, but directed her speech to Maera. 

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana said firmly.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.” Cullen was snappish at the repetition of the argument. 

Cassandra sighed, feeling the same frustration with inaction as Josephine. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark–”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–” Cullen’s mulishness served him well, but here only baited argument. 

Leliana interrupted scathingly. “Pure speculation.”

“ _ I _ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.” Maera’s eyes shot to stare at Cullen when he mentioned his prior occupation. 

“Which - which do I pick?” Maera turned back to Cassandra, and spoke quietly, searching the Seeker’s face. Cassandra frowned. 

“The choice is up to you. The Mark is on your hand.” She said evenly. Maera’s face twisted with distress. Her eyes flicked between the arguing parties and Cassandra, unsure. Josephine had the unfortunate realization of where this was going. 

“Enough. She’s not actually deciding, just calculating which one of you she needs to please and which one of you will hurt her the least for disagreeing.” Josephine cut in. Leliana and Cullen both froze, Leliana setting into a stony quietude, while Cullen looked appropriately horrified and chagrined. The notch between Cassandra’s brows deepened. Josephine ploughed on. “Regardless, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, Maera, specifically. Some are calling you – a Qunari – the 'Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. ”

“Herald of Andraste? Why?” Maera asked. 

Cassandra forced her face to composure and answered with the deliberate speech of mentally rehearsed words. “People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.” 

Maera frowned. 

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading–” Leliana began 

“Which we have not.” Cassandra pointed out. 

“The point is, everyone is talking about you.” Leliana finished. Josephine contained a sigh.

“The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. However, the parallels of a former slave to Andraste are almost heavy handed.You are earning the attention of the laypeople, which matter almost more than the Clerics and Sisters when it comes to public opinion.” 

“Indeed,” Leliana stepped forward again. “Particularly because of your age, comparisons are being drawn to the Orlesian warrior-maid of a few centuries ago who fought hearing the commands of the Maker despite being only a teen.” 

“Which Maera is not. I know we have little choice, but I hope you have a plan for the accusations of exploiting a child soldier we are going to accrue.” Cullen shot pointedly at Leliana, crossing his arms. 

This was another standing argument between the two. Cullen’s experience in Kirkwall with Qunari made him hyper-aware of how small and young Maera was. While Leliana was no less conscious of it, she was seemingly comfortable in a way the rest of them were not in accepting that the age of their saviour was beyond control and therefore beyond guilt. 

Leliana was uncowed. “Unlike you, Commander, most people cannot gauge the age of Qunari. We are simply letting seeds be planted and reaping the benefits of what is sown.” 

Josephine again interrupted the ceaseless discord.  _ “Regardless _ , the disapproval of the Chantry limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

They had again lost Maera’s comprehension to rapid, heated debate. Josephine made eye contact with Cassandra, sharing a moment of frustration at the bickering, and then Josephine gestured with a toss of her jaw at Maera. 

“Maera,” Cassandra said, re-engaging her. “You have some time before a decision must be made.” 

The girl nodded hesitantly. 

“There is something you can do.” Leliana spoke up, calm and restained again. “A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, only in the Hinterlands, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No latin in this chapter except for the Latin i should have been studying for my quiz tomorrow instead of finishing and posting this. 
> 
> I dont want to villify Leliana but I feel like she is pragmatic to a degree I do not agree with and I'm sure there's a deeper character analysis of why she is that I could do but like frankly I dont care enough to.
> 
> follow my tumblr tarantula-hawk-wasp
> 
> 4/19/20 Real talk lads. I am having so much difficulty writing the next chapter. I am on my 4th reworking of it. I think i finally figured out something that I can carry to completion, but oh my god the next chapter has been so hard to write, like the second half of it i wrote months ago and the start of the chapter i wrote recently is a completely different tone and its all in Solas POV which is not like easy and I forgot that the Hinterlands are the first place you fight actual humans so then I had to like address that and UGH i still haven't thought of a nickname for Varric to give Maera (if you have any suggestions PLEASE) (nicknames are just not something i think of ever)   
> Also like i'm shy so I don't reply to comments a lot and I am way to shy to ask for a beta but like if anyone would be willing to be a soundboard for ideas maybe???? contact me on tumblr or here i guess?? I have low self confidence about people wanting to engage with my writing. 
> 
> ANYWAYS I am working very hard on the next chapter it just has been a NIGHTMARE   
> I am also trying to get better at replying to comments. 
> 
> ALSO you may have noticed that this is part of a series, but not really, I started writing a modern au with maera in it that is mostly bull/cullen/dorian rom com content


	4. Solas - hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hinterlands quest is a whole mixed bag  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Part of that is that life has been a mess. I was studying abroad in Rome until Coronavirus happened and I got sent home March 2nd and then like everyone else its been social distancing and online classes and just yikes. I hope everyone is safe and doing alright!!!! 
> 
> Part of the reason it took so long is bc I rewrote and reworked sections of it 4 or 5 times because I couldn't decide what to do. I'm honestly just Sick of Looking At it and Working on it. 
> 
> **Content Warning for self harm in regards to blood magic and discussion of that**
> 
> Also like regarding Maera's language skills I hope it's not like annoying but I'm putting effort into that in regard to like considering the differences between Latin and English and what words and concepts can be visually illustrated and what would need explanation in your native tongue. I've never learned a language through immersion however so it is all speculative. I have her struggle with irregular verbs and remembering to use the past tense. I also have her skip the article "the" because Latin does not have an article, and I would image that is something very difficult to explain via hand gestures.

They set out for the Hinterlands on foot with full bags and one rather burdened packhorse plodding alongside. Without known allies and with such an unknown party, the Seeker had not wanted to risk running out of food or bedding and have to turn around early on their first outing. 

Solas was initially surprised that his presence was requested on the excursion, but the Seeker’s terse logic of the merits of a balanced party both in the sense of combat preparedness and in presenting the Inquisition as a diverse front readily dispelled the mystery of that decision. It was almost heavy-handed, an elf, a human, a dwarf, and a qunari. That kind of variety was usually only followed by the phrase “walked into a tavern”. 

The Seeker was almost likeable for a human, her pragmatism was at least reliable. Varric’s crossbow was useful in a fight, balancing out his needling chatter. And Maera was willing, if not overly so, to use the mark to fix the Breach and other tears into the Fade. Solas was withholding judgement on her character, as language barrier and indoctrination kept her from expressing much personality beyond fear and servile ingratiation. Solas had been in worse groups. 

The travel went swiftly enough, matching pace with as fast as Varric was willing to walk. Solas was quite certain that both he and the Seeker would rather lengthen their strides and leave the dwarf to huff and whine, and that the dwarf would manage to keep up, but Maera was only slightly taller than him and unlikely to voice a complaint about the pace. So Varric served as their metric. 

Their progress was slightly slowed by the fact that someone at requisitions had got it into the girl’s head that she needed to extract each piece of iron and collect every elfroot or embrium they came across. Granted, these were necessary materials, but the rest of them had planned on only collecting them when convenient. When not engaged in language lessons, Maera was blunting a knife point on rocks every mile or so and was only reluctantly pried away from the task, desire to follow the requisition order clearly warring with pleasing the Seeker. 

Camping was also tolerable. At least it became warmer as they left Haven and the snow gave way to grass and trees. It was an unfortunate reality that the Inquisition was so strapped for resources and housing for survivors at Haven and incoming recruits and refugees that they had elected to share one tent rather than take a second one from the troops. There were only ever three of them sleeping in it at a time, with whoever was coming in from a nightwatch shift taking the warm bedroll vacated by the next person on guard. Only the three adults were taking shifts, Varric having declared that Maera needed sleep and the Seeker pointedly agreeing, evidently trying to atone for the harshness with which she had viewed Maera when she had been only a prisoner suspected of mass murder. 

During rest breaks and in the evening before darkness fell, Maera was given lessons in combat. She was not talentless and had a surprising amount of base knowledge with insufficient vocabulary to explain why, but seem to have little inclination to attack or make offensive moves. So they focused on defensive strategies and parries. The plan was to keep her from the heat of battle, and have her be able to buy time for one of them to engage any combatants that approached her. The Seeker ran sword drills with her to cover the various positions, and demonstrated strategies against Varric’s arrows and Solas’s magic. 

The morning before they finally reached the settlements in the Hinterlands, The Seeker insisted they all bathe in a stream and sat Maera down to make her look less like some waif dragged along and more like the Herald the Chantry Mother was expecting. The Seeker braided the girl’s hair with a crown of plaits like the Seeker’s own and the rest of her hair in a braid down her back. Before they left Haven, she had been kitted out in leather and light chainmail over a long navy tunic and trousers to offer some protection without forcing her to adjust her movements completely. Between the hair, the armor, and the brighter look in her eyes, the girl did look less threadbare and forlorn. 

They made it to the already established Inquisition camp and discussed the situation with a dwarvish Scout Harding. Her assessments of the situation at The Crossroads, The Refugees, Corporal Vale, and Horsemaster Dennet were useful additions to the intel Spymaster Leliana have given them. The Seeker, with Varric’s barely acknowledged commentary, had squinted with brows knit at the map Scout Harding gave them before deciding they would approach The Crossroads and Mother Giselle first, and tackle other loose ends afterwards. 

They were not far into the wilds of Hinterlands away from the forward camp when they came across the clangs and shouts of battle. Solas plunged ahead with the Seeker, who cautioned the girl to stay back with Varric. They made short work of it. Both the rebel mages and the Templars were absorbed in fighting each other that it was easy enough to find an opening to attack. 

The farther they went into the Hinterlands the more of each group they found and fought. Neither could be persuaded to parly, despite the harried shouts of the Seeker. For the first few skirmishes they kept Maera from the bloodshed. These were not the fights through demons to get her near a rift, so she could stay sequestered on the sidelines. But that consistency did not hold. 

They were fighting two Templars when the Seeker, pausing for breath while the cooling lifeblood of her opponent dripped from her sword, looked back at the party, evaluating. Suddenly her expression contorted. 

“There’s a third! Maera!” She barked and started sprinting. Solas turned, Varric was finishing off what they had thought was the only other Templar, but up on the hill there was an armored figure backing Maera towards a tree. Maera had her sword up but was making no moves beyond that, face transfixed on the helmet looming over her. 

Maera’s sword wavered and the Templar brought his sword-hilt and armored fist down hard across her face. She crumpled. The Templar flipped his grip on his sword to plunge it downwards. 

The Seeker crested the hill and reached them, lifting her sword and she skidded to a stop and stabbed through the Templar’s neck via the gap between the gorget and helmet. Her momentum sent the body onto Maera before she could haul it away and off her blade. 

They all looked around for more enemies, but none were apparent. 

Solas and Varric reached the hilltop quickly. The Seeker had hauled Maera to her feet and was looking her over. Her forehead had a gash over her left eye and she was splattered with both her own blood and the Templar’s. The red was bright in her white hair. She looked at them with staring glassy gold eyes. 

Solas fumbled to uncork and down a lyrium potion, feeling the rush as it recharged him, and set to mending the cut and the concussion it had caused. The Seeker wet a corner of Maera’s cloak and set about wiping the worst of it from her face. Varric also wet a handkerchief and started on her armor and leathers. When Solas finished healing her and the other finished neatening her up, her eyes regained their clarity and brightness. 

They kept walking. No one moved to stop Maera when she spotted Embrium or Iron and darted to dig it out. Varric pointed out a hawk riding thermals overhead and they paused to watch it with Maera. They did not have time for much more, as from the valley ahead there was the electric crackle of battlemagic. The Seeker directed Maera to get her sword back out and gave her shoulder a squeeze and a nod before they were back in the thick of things. It was a mess of Mages and Templars and Inquisition Soldiers. 

Maera ended up staying near Solas this time, by mere luck than any planning. He kept a stronger barrier on her than himself, but could not afford to be overly distracted. He and the mage he was fighting were both drained of mana and were buying time by fighting with staves, bladed ends locked with equal might. If they used magic they were just as likely to have it backfire on themselves, but the mage was just too far out of reach to headbutt or kick. Maera was unoccupied and nearby. 

“Maera.” He ground out sharply without shifting his attention. He did not know exactly what he planned for her to do, any form of distraction would be beneficial, or even getting the attention of the dwarf or the Seeker would help. He just needed the balance of the immediate conflict to shift. 

Maera moved to the side of the mage without attracting her attention, and slashed the mage’s arm lengthwise, dragging the sharp tip of the sword down it with a spray of blood. 

The mage screaming in pain and rage, dropping that arm from her staff and swinging it at Maera. Solas stopped the staff with his own, weapons locked again, but this time he and the mage were at an angle to each other, and he had two arms to her one. 

“Maera!” He said again, half wanting her to move farther back so that he could swing freely, half out of shock at her method of attack. 

“Oh.” It was a dejected noise. He could only see the girl out of the edge of his eye, his attention focused on his opponent, now crackling with electricity and adrenaline. He saw the shine of Maera’s sword move and then red against the grey and blue of her blurry form. He saw the other mage’s eye flick to Maera instead of focusing on him and he slamming his weight through his staff, knocking the woman’s weapon aside and spinning his own to slash the blade on the end through her throat. She was dead before she finished falling to the ground. 

He glanced around for immediate threats and then looked at Maera. 

Maera was standing there with her sword clutched in her left hand dripping steadily onto the dirt. Her right arm had a precise gash across it, coating her grey arm in red and she held it half outstretched. Her hand was not shaking. She was splattered with blood, both the mage’s and her own. Her face was even more troubling. Her lips were pressed together and here eyes were watering and she was glaring intensely at him.

“Why- I am not a blood mage.” He snapped. He felt strangled with conflict. He was outraged she would think that of him but could not muster true anger at her when he was also deeply concerned. 

“Maera!” It was the Seeker. The dwarf came hurriedly as well. The Seeker assessed the situation in only two glances before prying the bloody blade from the girl’s hand and shoving it at Varric to wipe on the grass before it could be resheathed at Maera’s hip. Varric gave the corpse a hard look. 

“Did she?” Varric said quietly, nudging the body’s shoulder. 

“I struck the killing blow. But the arm was her doing.” Solas said quickly. At least he could take responsibility for that part of the experience. Maera’s blow had not been deep enough to be immediately fatal, but he had not anticipated her using a move like that at all. 

The onlookers and soldiers from The Crossroads were an encroaching crowd. The Seeker looked around and then back at Maera. She was holding the girl’s arm. Maera at least had shoved her own sleeve over her elbow, out of the way of blood. 

“Solas.” The Seeker said, and that was enough for him to leave his thoughts and reach a glowing hand out to heal Maera’s arm. He was out of lyrium and low on mana, so she would need a bandage. The Seeker ripped her own undertunic from under her skirt of mail and used that to wipe away the blood. Varric found the roll of bedsheet bandages shoved in his pack and the Seeker made fast work of looping it around her arm. 

“We will talk about this later. We don’t have time right now, but  **later** .” There was a note of concern in the Seeker’s terse words that Solas had never heard before. The number of approaching eyes was growing. 

“I-” Maera choked out a wet noise, looking more bewildered than anything. “I - not  _ secaui _ -” She gestured across her arm. “- the Mark hand. The Mark is okay.” 

“The Mark is not the only thing that matters.” The Seeker said in a harsh undertone, face a rictus of displeasure. The Seeker shook her head and pulled the dark blue sleeve down over the tied off bandage and smoothed her hands over Maera’s hair and wiped her cheeks with her gloved thumbs before settling on her shoulders. Varric now provided another rag of cloth, wet from a skin. The Seeker wiped at the blood splatters, speaking while she rendered Meera kempt once again.

“We cannot discuss this now. We have to meet with Mother Giselle. I will talk, but I need you to stand with me and Be The Herald. Can you do that?” The was a frantic edge to her words. Maera nodded. 

“I can- I am the Herald.” 

The Seeker sighed and nodded, squeezing the girl’s shoulders one last time before releasing her to walk towards The Crossroads village. The girl started after her and Varric rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her back to hold her shoulder. 

“You know we don’t just keep you alive because of your hand?” The dwarf buoyed her along and Solas could only trail after. 

They met Mother Giselle tending to a wounded soldier and, surprisingly, encouraging the use of healing magic. The Seeker followed the Mother off away from the sickbeds in quiet conversation, Maera walking beside her, silent and observant. 

It was refreshing to meet a Chantry mother who did not perpetrate the fear of mages that as all to common in recent years. For a human woman in a position of Chantry authority she seemed a decent enough sort. Worth having in the Inquisition, and able to replace Chancellor Roderick as a religious head at Haven. 

Standing and waiting while other mages labored around him was pointless, and Varric was occupied maintenancing his crossbow. So Solas offered what mana he had left to aid the healers with some of the more minor injuries. 

The Seeker came back with a hint of relief in her features. Apparently Mother Giselle was willing to help the Inquisition and provide names of their most vocal enemies among the Chantry. It was good news from a political standpoint. 

The Sun was past it zenith, and Dennet’s horse farm was a half-day’s walk from The Crossroads. The Hinterlands were not a place worth being caught walking in the dark by bear or bandit. They would camp at The Crossroads for the night and leave in the morning, as would Mother Giselle, albeit in an opposite direction. 

The afternoon was spent meeting with the people around The Crossroads. The Seeker immediately had them find Corporal Vale, who was handling the situation as competently as he could and informed them of the need for a healer, and the problems the refugees faced with starvation and the elements. He sent them to a hunter and a Recruit Whittle. The hunter distressed the difficulty in finding game rather than battles and requested half a score of rams. Whittle outlined the desperate need for blankets and Maera, likely understanding half of it, had shifted to unpin the cloak from her own neck. The Seeker clapped her hands down on Maera’s shoulders to stop her and quickly agreed to use the Inquisition’s resources to help. They darted hither and yon returning items they had collected from bodies during the day and copying details from the better maps of others. 

Their tent was set up near the other Inquisition soldiers’ tents, away from the refugees. It was not a hard thing to put up. The camp provided wood cut as poles as they were away from convenient trees and the ground was already cleared of stones. 

They sat beside their tent to eat a discreet late lunch of rations, conscious of the overall lack of food. The Seeker sighed, clenching her hand around a strip of dried apple. The notch between her eyebrows was especially deepened. 

“I do not want to waste daylight hours, but what happened earlier needs to be addressed.” They all looked up with attention.

“I did not intend for any of that to happen.” Solas said, tone colored with defensive unhappiness. 

The Seeker waved a dismissed hand. “I know. But it happened.” 

The Seeker looked at the half-raised eyes of the girl. “Herald -Maera- We may expect you to fight, but the way you attacked that woman was neither efficient or morally right. We will work on your training. And you are never to harm yourself like that.” 

“I think Solas wanted blood. For magic.” Maera said, caught between defending her own reasoning and accusatory towards him.

“I am not a blood mage.” Solas repeated sternly. Maera shrugged, looking less cowed than he would have expected. Solas was frankly disturbed she would have that low of an opinion of him. 

“Yes, in Haven.  _ Sed  _ we are -” She gestured at their surroundings and made a vague sound, “- and mages use blood in - in war. I hope you are nice and you use other mage blood not- not me  _ sed _ you not used her blood and Magister-” She cut her rapid rant off with a choked noise. 

“I have never used blood magic.” Solas could only reiterate. At least both the dwarf and Seeker looked equally uncomfortable. “I will not want blood on the battlefield either.” 

Maera still looked skeptical. 

“Blood magic is not common in the South.” The Seeker said solemnly. “The Inquisition does not allow it in our ranks. Any mage in the Inquisition  **does not use blood magic** .” 

Maera nodded, close enough to convinced for now. 

“Were you often used for blood?” Solas asked. He had little knowledge of the logic of a Tevinter blood mage in what warranted an ideal blood slave. 

“Not in Tevinter. I am-” She paused gesturing vaguely at herself. “- money and qunari. Not in tevinter. On boat, no. On road to Haven, bandits and templars attacked and I gave blood.” 

Solas did not know what he had expected to do with her answer. He supposed it was good that she had not been bled frequently. 

“Well. That’s one person I’m glad was lost in the Conclave.” Varric declared with a light tone and heavy sincerity. 

There was a lull as they sat, then the Seeker, ever determined, stood and repacked her bag. 

“We may as well make use of the hours until sunset by hunting. The people here are starving and your skills are better suited to hunt rams than my sword is, but I can aid in dressing and transporting the meat.” 

The Seeker’s logic was reasonable enough. The Seeker ducked back into the tent to put their unneeded supplies inside. The horse was not trained to haul carcasses and would just as likely try to bolt at the scent of blood, so they would have to make a drag sled if they were successful.

“Maera, do you want to stay and help Mother Giselle or do you want to come with us?” Varric thought to ask. Maera looked a little alarmed at the prospect of being left behind. 

“With you.” She said quickly. 

They stopped in the hills not very far from The Crossroads. The Seeker and Maera waited in a copse of trees while he and the dwarf waited on either side of the dip of the valley between two hills. It was a natural bottleneck with enough fresh ram scat to make it worth the attempt. 

They felled their first ram and Solas volunteered to drag it back to The Seeker to dress. The Seeker was waiting, leaning against a tree, with a slight smile that dissolved back into polite neutrality when she noticed him. She had been watching Maera squatting near the undergrowth and whispering in Tevene at two pink nugs milling about just out of reach. It seemed she was fond of the rodents, Solas resigned himself to possibly one less flavor of meat on these excursions. 

Varric carried the next carcass back. They both hauled the final one for the evening. Three was a good start for now and the shadows of the trees were beginning to lengthen threateningly. 

The Seeker had branches prepped for three sledges and the first carcass already bound to one. The second ram was nearly finished as well. Judging by Maera’s rolled up sleeves and smudges of blood here and there, she had helped as well. But she was now sitting in the bushes with a nug in her lap, smiling more genuinely than he had ever seen as she pet it. 

“I told her if she sat with her back to them they would get curious crawl on her.” Varric said in a pleased undertone beside him. 

Maera’s nug eventually wandered off and she helped finish binding the gutted rams. They made to return to The Crossroads camp, hefting the arms of the sledges when the girl stopped Varric. 

“I carry this. You are a dwarf, I am -  _ bos _ -” She scowled and then gestured to her horns. “ _ Bos-  _ uh, animal, to carry sled.” 

She likely meant it in a metaphorical way, referring to the strength she inherently had as a qunari. Varric, however, looked quite appalled. 

“You’re not an animal, kid.” She rolled her eyes. 

“I know. I want to help.” She insisted again, giving the sled a shake. 

“Fine. We can switch halfway.” He agreed unhappily and moved out of her way. The few inches she had on him did make it easier to drag the weight. 

The hunter back at The Crossroads was very pleased to see the meat. He sent the skins to whoever was in charge of tanning and thanked them again. Then they got directions to the appropriate part of the stream to bathe in and scrub the ram’s blood and dirt off. They made quick work of it, the silent ablutions at the end of a long day. Solas gave the cut on Maera’s arm another round of healing spells before wrapping it in a new bandage. 

They didn’t need to have a watch that night. The Inquisition Soldiers they were camping among had their own rota. So they all crammed into the shared tent, a close fit but not unbearable. Solas took the spot between Varric and the tent wall, wanting distance between Maera and himself to mull over the events that occurred earlier. And in the stillness of the night, before sleep, when the thoughts shoved aside during the day returned to settle heavily over each of them, he thought it better that it was the dwarf and the Seeker who laid comforting hands on Maera when she shook with a choked sob. 

The morning dawned cold and bright. They made good time to the farmland. The first battle they fought that day was with demons around a Fade Rift, which Maera closed with a pained grimace. That fight was freeingly easy and guiltless, with ichor spilling instead of blood. When bandits and mages and templars attacked that day, they had more success keeping Maera from the heat of it. 

When they reached Dennet’s farm it nearing midday. Dennet had presented reasonable concerns and was willing to renegotiate after his demands were met. He also promised them four horses immediately. 

The Seeker was still inside, meting out the details of the requirements for the watchtowers, and discussing horses, and whatever else she saw fit. Solas was content to wait out in the sunlight while she handled Dennet and his family. He kept an idle eye on Maera. She also had quickly lost interest in trying to follow their rapid words and been dismissed to wander outside. 

Eventually she edged over to the fence of a sheep paddock, staring thoughtfully at the woolly beasts. The herd was milling about on the other side of the fence. Maera could touch them if she simply extended her arm, but she did not. Solas stepped beside her and reached his own arm down. 

“You might as well pet them.”He said quietly, demonstrating the action. 

There was no danger in encouraging this unless she had an allergy to wool, as domestic sheep were socialized to be touched to facilitate shearing. She watched him for a moment before stepping onto the bottom rung of the fence and levering herself half over it to plunge her hand into the wool of the closest sheep. The animal nibbled at her clothes and she eased its teeth away, stroking its face instead. Maera turned her head to Solas and smiled. Solas offered a small smile in return and stepped away from the fence, wiping his hand on his trousers. A greater part of him than he expected was relieved that she was no longer glaring at him. 

And that was only the beginning. Maera got slobbered on by a farmers’ hound, nearly bowled over by druffalo, and wound up with feathers in her hair from chickens. If the Seeker was less than thrilled about the prospect of the shared tent tonight taking on a barnyard tinge, she did not complain in the girl’s hearing. If anything, they all shared a sense of relief that the girl was delighting in at least something after the tumult of yesterday.

Maera’s enthusiasm for animals paid off when they had to track down Druffy the missing druffalo, as the girl managed to lead the animal home with an ease none of the rest of the party felt capable of. She even knocked foreheads with the creature when they returned it to its field, touching its horns and then her own and looking exceptionally pleased. 

She did not attempt to pet the agitated wolves, they had stationed her well away from that cave when they realized it was a demon without a rift. The wolf-meat was worthless, but the pelts were worth the time to skin and dress them. 

The rest of their time in the hills was characterized by Maera’s newfound enthusiasm for animals. It had not been so transparent before that Maera had lived in a city. Maera only attempted approaching a wild Halla once, the animal had been intently eating and her steps were quiet, but it startled before she could touch it and the long horns nearly gouged her. Fennecs could be enticed into her lap with the same method as nugs and the addition of a morsel of jerky. 

They met again with the farmers, telling of their success with the wolves and collected the promised quartet of horses. These were better trained and comfortable with hunting, so they killed four rams on their way back to The Crossroads, tying sleds to their saddles this time instead. They happened across a rebel mage camp with few mages guarding it and a stack of blankets that they also tied to the sleds, above the bleeding ram carcasses. 

Maera knew only the rudimentary basics of riding clinging nervously to the saddlehorn, but between the sleds and the uneven terrain they did not press the horses beyond a manageable walk. They bathed again in the stream and Solas checked Maera’s arm and left the bandages off it this time. 

The third day was spent wrapping up loose ends. They ran more errands around the camp, and the Seeker recorded notes about other future tasks the Inquisition would look into in the future in this area. They did not take the horses out, the terrain was steep and rocky and it would be foolish to injure one of them because the rider and the animal did not know each other yet. They marked out locations on the map and left coded signs for the scouts. They closed another fade rift with something approaching practiced success. They also hunted their final promised three rams. 

It was an easy and rather pleasant day. But of course, this was the Hinterlands, and not all of the local inhabitants were as mild-mannered as sheep or nugs. Bears were notorious for roaming these hills in multitudes. The party had been fortunate so far, even the wolves had been localized. 

They were downwind and spotted the bear before it noticed them. The Seeker paused, apparently calculating the best way for their party to approach the imminent encounter, but before she could speak Maera bounded ahead. Solas did not expect her to be so eager to attack an animal, but perhaps the chill of Haven’s snow had warmed her to the necessity of pelts. The truth was less convenient. 

“ _ Ursus _ !” Maera cooed, approaching the very large animal with a hand extended and an apparent lack of self preservation. 

“Maera!” The Seeker shrieked, darting after her. 

“Shit!” Varric swore, cocking his crossbow and trying to get an unobstructed angle. 

Solas himself was freeing his staff from his back and sprinting to get close enough to cast. 

The Seeker reached the girl first and wound her arms around her, twisting so that the hefty clawed paw swiping at Maera came down across the shield carried on her back. The Seeker pushed the girl away, hard, towards the nearby trees and turned, fluidly donning her shield and drawing her sword. Varric’s crossbow bolts pounded into the distracted bear’s side at the same time Solas cast a barrier over all of them. 

Between the three of them they made swift work of the bear. The only harm being a row of gouges in the Seeker’s shield. Solas set to work skinning the carcass, the Seeker and Varric had handled the rams today. The Seeker rounded on the girl. 

Maera had stayed quietly near the trees, watching them with uncertain wariness. Evidently she had missed the fact that the Seeker’s actions had been out of concern rather than genuine ire, but that was the Seeker’s turn to remedy. 

“What - in the blessed name of the Maker - were you thinking?” The Seeker grabbed the girl by the shoulders, face creased. “Surely, even if you had never seen a bear before, the size and claws would strike you as dangerous?” 

“I know bears!” Maera said, with confidence she rarely displayed. The Seeker spluttered incredulously. 

“And yet?” 

“Magister Arcturus has a bear. Named Callie - Callisto. They ordered me to -to play with her.” Maera said this all very matter-of-fact, attempting a soothing tone, clearly trying to diffuse the Seeker’s upset. It was not having the desired effect. 

“They let you play with… a bear…” The Seeker’s hands were slack around Maera’s shoulders, rather than gripping as before. 

“Yes. Callie was… like me?” Maera was reaching the creative edges of her vocabulary. “Big by milk in home of a Magister. From small to big.” 

The Seeker was only confused by that statement, shooting a troubled look at Solas and then at the dwarf, who shrugged and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“They let you play with a pet bear? I’ve heard stranger things out of Tevinter. Just, wild bears, in nature? Are dangerous. Do not pet them.” Varric contributed. Maera nodded. 

“Now I see,” She gestured at the bear carcass, “dangerous.” 

“Why would they make you play with a pet bear?” It seemed that the Seeker was still hung up on that tidbit of information. She seemed hesitant, as if sensing she would not like the answer. Solas had that inkling as well. He was mentally preparing for Maera to say something that would remind him of why Tevinter did not deserve to exist and the world should be returned to a better time before that northern empire. 

“Callie is like me. They think, it is like a game. Callie and me live in houses. Not wild Qunari or bear. We are  _ testimonium _ of Magistrum makes an animal  _ domestic _ .” 

“You are not-” The Seeker’s voice was choked, and she removed one hand from the girl’s shoulder to cup her cheek. “You are not an animal. The Qunari are not animals either, they are a people with their own culture and, and you -I’ll not have you- Do not be ashamed of what you are.” 

“I like the bear Callie. It’s okay.” Maera tried to reassure the Seeker, which went as well as her previous attempt. 

The conversation was minimal as they carried the bear pelt to the sleds with the three ram carcasses and dragged them back to the Crossroads. This time the hunter accepted the rams and in exchange gave them two further prepped wolf skins. They finished their check ins with the Inquisition troops stationed there and ate a hot dinner of ram stew from the cook’s fire. 

In the morning they began the ride back to Haven. Two of the horses, the packhorse and one of the smaller horses from Dennet were laden with the pelts and packs. If they were to make good time back to Haven, they could not spare to give Maera riding lessons on the road. She cycled between sharing with each of them as to not overtire any one horse. When she rode behind Solas, she did so without complaint but with her hands clenched tightly on the sides of his tunic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin  
>  _secaui_ I have cut  
>  _sed_ but  
>  _bos_ a cow  
>  _ursus_ bear  
>  _domitam_ house-bound, tamed, conquered 
> 
> The vibes of this chapter were all over the place because I wrote the like last third with like animals uhh in January and then in march when I finally rewatched the playthrough of the hinterlands I realized that this is when you first fight other people instead of just demons and that took things down a whole other path. I originally wrote Maera killing that mage and dealing with that but then I couldn't figure out what conversations to have, so then I had her just stab the mage and like deal with her attempting to kill, but i still couldn't think of where to go with that, and finally I had blood magic occur to me and there we are. 
> 
> Speaking of which, here is some cut dialogue from an alternate scene between Varric and Solas  
>  _“What’s the Seeker even going to tell her? I killed my first bear at 8 and by 10 I had moved on to dragons.”  
>  Solas let Varric vent his spleen, focussed more on scanning his periphery for rams or worse. After they killed and field dressed their first ram he turned it into a conversation.  
> “For all her Inquisitions lofty goals it seems like we’re just tormenting a child.”  
> “There was little choice. The girl has the Mark and it is tied to her. We must work with the circumstances we have if we hope to close The Breach.”  
> “Oh I’m all for closing the gaping hole in the sky, but couldn’t the mark be transferred to someone else? Or the magic imitated?”  
> “Unfortunately no. Not without removing her hand, it’s too intrinsically linked.” _  
> I did have a question asked about like ships in this. I have not decided anything yet. To be frank, my track record with finishing long fics is not great and I'm only tagging this with what is actually written on the page.  
> I'm fine with keeping this gen, and if I did add any ships it would stay pg and be quite far down the line. I'm thinking of doing a survey in a few chapters to get an actual understanding of what ships would people want to read and what would make people stop reading this.  
> I'm more of a multishipper but you may guess from the other fic I'm working on where my favorites lie. 
> 
> ALSO I cannot for the LIFE OF ME think of a nickname for Varric to give Maera. I'm just not a nickname person and I can only come up with ones that would be rude for a qunari. 
> 
> As always hit me up on tumblr [tarantula-hawk-wasp](%E2%80%9Dtarantula-hawk-wasp.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)
> 
> on a more fun note I made a [fashion board for Maera](https://tarantula-hawk-wasp.tumblr.com/post/613725691667775488/fashion-board-for-my-dai-inquisitor-oc-maera)


	5. Cullen part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Haven with Cullen's POV. split into 2 chapters for my sanity. All my homies hate chancellor roderick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy Its Sure Been A While.  
> 2020 everyone right?? 
> 
> This chapter is becoming monsterously long because there are a lot of seeds i need to plant for future events, but I've had this first part mostly written for a while, so I decided to polish it off and post it, and there will be a second part of the cullen chapter in december (after I finish my thesis). 
> 
> I'm posting this because it's finished scenes that have been burning a hole in my doc and then I can be less distracted while I work on my thesis and then work on the rest of the chapter during break. 
> 
> I like writing Cullen bc he's my "holly can have little a problematic fave... as a treat" and like yknow comfort character  
> anyways
> 
> In my drafts I called this the "food chapter" bc its a motif... also I like thinking about logisics...

After the initial excitement over the success at stabilizing the Breach, morale gradually dragged back down. Part of this was the realization that there were great efforts to be made before attempting anything permanent on the Breach, partly out of baser wants. Hopefully, Cassandra’s trip to the Hinterlands with the Herald would be successful. 

Cullen had been under no illusions that founding the Inquisition would be easy, the idea had been a challenge even when it was a mere hypothetical that Cassandra recruited him for in Kirkwall. Establishing an organization was a daunting task. On top of gaining a political footing, there was also the destruction of the Temple and the Breach looming overhead. The recruits he had to mold into something usable were either green farm hands who had never gripped a shield before, or aged veterans set in their ways. And there were other organizational struggles. He dreaded each missive he received from the Quartermaster almost as much as he dreaded having to send inquiries her way in return. 

The Inquisition was low on resources of every variety, barring perhaps water. They had barely enough tents and blankets to stave off the snow, the Healers were in constant want of elfroot and bandages, and the blacksmiths spent more time hammering shovels and hoes into spears than forging new swords.

The cavernous cellars of the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been used as the spillover long term grain storage for Haven. Beyond that physical loss, the supply routes were completely disrupted, and had been to some extent for a while. First it had been the Mage and Templar war making it difficult to move smaller parties, then opportunistic bandits filled in, and finally with the Breach opening, demons terrorized the area. On top of all that, Josephine had come to the War Room near to tears because another merchant was withdrawing support for political reasons to appease the Chantry. They couldn’t directly advertise that they were having supply difficulties, because that would weaken their foundations as an organization, but that also meant that making requests was a very delicate matter. They were not strapped for coin even, it was entirely a problem of access to purchasable food supplies. They were all being very nice to Josephine and her letter writing. 

An army marched on its stomach and things were tight. Many of the recruits and refugees signing up came with at least some parcel of grain or rice or barley, and could usually be convinced with coin to add it to the galley supply. The cooks tried to achieve some sort of normality with meals, pooling the rice from jars and sacks from twelve sources into one pot, that way they were not eating a true hodgepodge. They also tried to have some variety between meals, oatmeal for breakfast, hard crackers and broth and dried meat or fruit for lunch, and barley soup for dinner and the like. It was not a prisoner’s rations of water and gruel, but it was disheartening. The only greens they had were dried peas and the hardy cabbages growing despite the cold, and the Breach had driven away much of the local wildlife and the hens could only lay so many eggs. 

Cullen could only be glad that at least they weren’t having problems with desertion yet. It helped that they were still getting three meals every day, and that the problem was not truly dire, just looming. The trickle of supplies coming with the increasing number of new arrivals was enough to keep them going day to day. And there had been a recent success with a rather discreet group of soldiers and scouts in nondescript clothing buying and escorting a cart of grain from Val Royeaux. 

More hope came in the form of sixhead of dairy cows driven by a farmer and his two adult children. They had come from the Hinterlands, and were two days ahead of the Herald’s party according to Leliana’s ravens. The few dedicated cooks had rushed forward to fawn over the farmer and the animals, and some had even kissed the head of one of the cows in relief and Quartermaster Threnn had watched, discreetly scrubbing a hand across her face. Cullen had been deeply moved as well. The party to meet with Mother Giselle and seal rifts had been successful enough for use of the supply road to resume.

The Hinterlands party finally returned at the cresting of a midday sun, preceded by the  Boundary Scout ’s raven. The four new horses were a welcome site, as were their riders. 

The crowd to watch the arrival of the Herald’s party was a good portion of the population of Haven. Most of them watched from an appreciative distance. Cullen approached with the other advisors, a courier, and the quartermaster. He ran a friendly hand over the packhorse’s seeking nose and scanning the group for indication of injury or trouble. Cassandra’s frown cut slightly harsher lines in her face than usual, but there were many potential causes for that, and Varric looked tense, but he did not know the apostate or the Herald well enough to gauge if they were more than just weary of the saddle. 

The courier went directly to Varric, pressing an envelope into his hand as soon as he slid heavily from his horse. He looked at it, mouthed an oath, and started quickly up the slope of Haven. Solas also dismounted and was occupied with freeing his pack and staff from their strappings to the saddle. Josephine, Leliana, and the Quartermaster were all speaking rapidly with Cassandra, Josephine’s gesticulations increasing with each turn in the conversation. He should probably join them, but he knew that there would be many meetings outlining it all in detail again. 

The Herald was still on her horse, sitting stiffly and looking around with her lips slightly pressed into what approached a frown. She did not have the look of someone accustomed to the saddle. 

While he was watching, she swung her leg over the saddle and the neck of the horse. It shifted nervously beneath her uncoordinated movements. She was now sitting sidesaddle and looking even more uncertain, instead of correctly facing the horse to dismount on her own. 

Cullen walked over and stopped beside the horse, resting a hand on the muscular side of its neck. The horses at least seemed well trained. Hers was the largest of the bunch by almost two hands, likely part draft horse, big enough that she looked rather small astride it. That would be a discussion they would have to have. Leliana was angling to play upon the general public’s unfamiliarity with Qunari to cultivate the prevalent assumption that the Herald was in her mid-teens, and a middling sized horse would serve that better. Cullen was not entirely sold on that idea. Regardless of visual agendas, a larger horse that she could continue to use as she grew might also be quite practical. It was something to ruminate on as a group. 

“May I help you down?” He asked quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone else besides her. She looked at him with her mouth open and anxiety exposed before her face settled into something calmer. She nodded, and then looked faintly helpless again. He took the reins from her grip and looped them around the saddlehorn. 

“Put your hand on my shoulder, and I’ll lift you down.” He instructed gesturing deliberately with a gentle smile. She nodded nervously and tentatively rested her hand on his mantle. He nodded and reached up and gripped her waist, she shot her other hand forward to grab his other shoulder and he took her off the horse. When both her feet were on the ground he straightened her cloak and handed her the pack and sword tied to the saddle. 

He had admittedly not spent much time with her outside of planning meetings. He had sat sometimes at her bedside during the time she was unconscious, filing in as a nighttime minder during fits of insomnia. But in the days before she left for the Hinterlands, she spent her time in her cabin, with Varric, or following Cassandra around. She had not ventured out to the soldier’s tents and training grounds. 

Be she chosen by Andraste or mere victim of circumstance, they were still giving her no choice but to give up her childhood and, if he allowed himself pessimism, her life for the Inquisition. If they were asking her to die, it was little hardship to make the effort of being nice to her. 

“How were the Hinterlands?” He asked. 

“Talked to  _ Mater _ Giselle. Closed Rifts. Talked to horse- man,uhm, horse - commander.” She rattled off seriously. 

“You certainly were productive, I don’t need your full report just yet.”He kept his tone light to avoid chastising her, but he could hear all the technical details later. Before that could kill the conversation he thought to redirect it. “Did you enjoy the warmer weather? Was there snow in the Hinterlands?” 

Normally discussing the weather was a bit gauche, but he did wonder how the difference between the northern heat of Tevinter and the ice of the Frostbacks was treating her, and he had overheard a few times when Varric had been reviewing “clouds” and “sun” and “snow” with her, so hopefully she could talk about it with sufficient ease. 

“It was warm! I liked warm skies, no snow, and trees have leaves and grass and flowers!” She brightened with confidence. “ _ I _ collected Embrium and Elfroot!” 

“That’s very good. I’m sure Adan will be happy. Or as happy as he gets.” She smiled a bit more broadly, understanding the grumpy personality of the healer enough to get the joke. 

He unloaded another bag from the horse, this one did have bundles of cut plants in it. The farmer-turned-recruit and another soldier hurried over to take the reins and finish unloading the horses. One of the bags from the packhorse was also full of plants. He picked that up as well and glanced around. Solas was burdened with his own scant luggage and Cassandra was now gesticulating at the Quartermaster. The horses were in responsible hands now and being led away to the stables. 

“How about we take these to Adan now?” He suggested, gesturing with the sacks. The girl nodded with enthusiasm. They started into Haven proper, Maera insisted on carrying one of the bags of plants in addition to the pack of her own supplies on her back. Between the lack of obvious topics for small talk and her limited vocabulary he had to wrack his brain for more trivial information about the Hinterlands on things that were more visual. They had covered plants. “What else did you see in the Hinterlands? Any animals? Don’t they have bears there? “ 

“Yes we, uhm, saw a bear.” There was a less-than-happy hesitation over that. He made a mental note to ask Cassandra about the details. He made a affirmative noise and looked expectantly for her to continue. “I saw a Halla. It ran. It had long horns. We hunted ten rams. I pet sheeps, and I pet a druffalo, and a dog, and I sat and pet nugs and I sat and pet a fennec!” 

They made it most of the way up the hill when the raised voices became apparent. Evidently, if Cullen looked away for the merest moment the rabble rousers would come crawling out of the woodwork. 

Cullen dropped the bags he had been holding onto the snow and briefly clapped a hand on the Herald’s shoulder. 

“Stay here.” He said quickly, already stepping away. He hastened to a jog when the rioting concentrated into two arguing individuals. He only half heard their words- the same baseless accusations and desperate assignments of blame that had been cast about since the explosion at the Conclave. And all of that just the newest manifestation of the eternal dichotomy between mages and templars. 

He shoved between the two vocal opponents at the cusp of the conflict turning to blows. They had avoided bloodshed between dissenters so far and he was determined to keep it that way. The flimsy peace they yet had would be impossible to recover if it escalated to that level. 

“Enough!” He snapped with as much authority as he could convery half-breathless. 

“Knight-Captain-” The title pushed him into real irritation - both the disregard for his new position and the implied expectation of which side he would choose in their conflict. 

“That is not my title. We are  _ not _ Templars any longer. We are  _ all _ part of the Inquisition.” If they did not have conviction for the organization of their own, perhaps his sincerity could force some of his own onto them. 

“And what does that mean exactly.” A snide remark announced the arrival of Chancellor Roderick. 

“Back already Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?” He said with deliberately savagery. He had little doubt that the instigators of this crowd had been previously riled by the Chancellor’s spewings. 

“I’m curious Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.” The Chancellor asked without sincerity, projecting his voice for the benefit of their audience.

“Of course you are.” Cullen bit out darkly, refusing to give the Chancellor his public debate. 

“Back to your duties, all of you!” He ordered at large, glaring about with enough intensity for even the more hotheaded members of the crowd to dismiss. The Chancellor lingered, ever unwilling to leave without some parting reminder of where he lay his portion of blame. 

The Herald approached hesitantly and stood beside him, clutching the necks of the sacks he had abandoned along with her own. She was eyeing the Chancellor with due apprehension, considering he had spent their last encounter demanding she be dragged off in irons. Cullen wished she had stayed back or gone to wait in the Chantry, but there was no time to send her away, and this kind of hostility was likely waiting in Val Royeaux and the rest of Thedas. 

“Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death. Incensing these crowds is only exacerbating the very conflict the Divine sought to allay.” He repeated his usual fruitless reprimand of the Chancellor, more for the Herald’s benefit than anything.

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order.” Chancellor Roderick delivered his rote criticism of the Inquisition, impassioned as ever. 

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the conclave.”

It was perhaps petty, but Cullen hated how smug the Chancellor sounded even if he could not truly disagree. He too felt the absence of the leadership of Divine Justinia keenly, the Inquisition was without an Inquisitor. Instead they were a handful of advisors unsuited to absolute authority rallying behind a frightened child forced into being a controversial religious figurehead building this organization with no small amount of bluster. They did not need the likes of Chancellor Roderick undermining their already fragile efforts. 

“The rebel Inquisition and its so called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not.” Scorn dripped from each deliberately shaped word. 

With reflexes and energy beyond what Cullen anticipated from the man, the Chancellor lunged and seized the Herald by the left wrist, brandishing the her marked hand. She dropped the bags and staggered, looking desperately at Cullen, who was already moving. He clamped his left hand around the Chancellor’s arm and inserted his other arm in front of the Herald, ready to force himself between them. 

“You transgress.” He hissed, holding the Chancellor’s wrist as firmly as he dared, manifesting no small portion of his frustration into what would doubtless be a ring of bruises, but unwilling to do much real damage and provide fuel for his seditious fires. The Chancellor released his grip on the Herald’s wrist and Cullen swiftly shoved her behind him. The he released the Chancellor, who at least was reasonable enough to look chastened and flustered. Cullen glared until the man turned to slink off without saying another word. 

He did not watch his entire departure, instead he stooped to grab the dropped bags and splayed a hand across the Herald’s back to guide her inside the Chantry doors. 

He hurried her through the chantry and inside the privacy of the War Room, shutting the heavy door before heaving a sigh. It really had been a good day, the porridge at breakfast had had milk in it and he had kept it down, withdrawals were gentle today, and the Herald’s party had returned triumphantly mounted. Now a stress headache was mounting, different in location and type of pain from a lyrium headache, this variety was reserved for the arguing crowds and Chancellor Roderick especially. He allowed himself one moment to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration before redirecting his attention. 

“He’s toothless, all bark and no-” He stopped halfway through the metaphor. That was both too indirect and idiomatic of a way to phrase it and not entirely true anymore. “He is not likely to hurt you but, if he approaches you- if he talks to you or touches you or yells at you, come find one of us - me or Cassandra or Varric or Josephine or Leliana or Solas.” 

“Okay.” She said quietly, looking rather shaken - shoulders hunched and hands clutched to her chest. He fought the urge to sigh again. He tugged off his gauntlets and tossed them on the War Table. 

“May I see your arm?” He held out a hand. “Are you hurt?”

She did not reply but reached her arm out. Cullen grasped her limp hand and gingerly pushed back her sleeve. She had a few scars around her wrist from past abrasions that he eyed darkly. Roderick’s grasp had left small red patches where his fingertips had been. The bruises would fade in a day or two, but Cullen was decidedly unhappy about their existence. 

“If these get worse, if they turn purple, you can put snow and a rag-” He paused and reconsidered. “- Actually wait a moment.” 

He squeezed her hand and dropped it, walking out the door and flagging down the nearest chantry sister. He waited the few moments it took for her to meet his request and took the rag wrapped around a chunk of snow back inside the War Room. 

He gestured for her hand again and she let him wrap the cold bundle around her wrist. 

“Hold that on your arm for a while - unless it gets too cold- it will help with the swelling.” She started holding the bundle herself, so he could remove his hands, but she looked at him uncertainly. 

“Swelling? Uh, when your wrist gets big?” He adding a hand gesture for clarity. She nodded hesitantly. 

“In Tevinter, magisters who cannot cast magic of healers, use magic of ice on -  _ livores  _ -” She spoke quietly and hesitantly, and gestured to her injured arm. 

“Bruises.” Cullen supplied. He felt another spark of anger at the Chancellor, for scaring the Herald back into skittishness after her relative chattiness walking from the horses. 

“Bruises. Magisters cast on bruises magic of ice.” She repeated back with careful articulation. He nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way. 

“Yes, mages here, Southern Mages, use ice and frost magic on injuries sometimes as well. But in Haven, we have snow most of the time so magic isn’t needed.” 

The swing of the oiled hinges and then the slam of the heavy doors rang from the nave of the chantry. Cullen heard the aggrieved tones of Cassandra and both Josephine and Leliana. He glanced at the Herald and gave her a bracing smile before the War Room door would open and their debriefing meeting begin in earnest. Judging by the tones outside, Chancellor Roderick had somehow managed to lower himself further in all of their esteem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No latin that I feel needs translating. 
> 
> I love hating Chancellor Roderick, he reminds me of my ex-gf's ex-bf that we all hated. Also I love how Cass and Cullen just rip into him every argument. 
> 
> On the one hand I believe in the whole Cringe Culture Is Dead thing and like I love other people's self indulgent works but on the other hand every chapter of this I post makes me fight that internalized cringyness. 
> 
> In December I will work on the rest of the chapter. 
> 
> \- In a few chapters Krem shows up and guess what he can translate so I need to think of what questions everyone would ask Maera  
> SO - What Burning Questions Would You Have To Ask Maera if you were an inner circle member? 
> 
> ALSO I have a WIP that is a horror-western au with Maera (it is cullen/bull and cullen/bull/dorian) That I am Working on! I will post that when it is completed sometime this winter! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr a [@tarantula-hawk-wasp](https://tarantula-hawk-wasp.tumblr.com/post/189388172256/what-if-instead-of-writing-i-post-art-for-my-own)  
> Also I'm on instagram @thecityofthefireflies and I draw maera a lot 
> 
> FInally, at some point I'm going to post an Art Chapter just of Art of Maera bc I draw her kind of a lot and if you're reading this you're in her fandom now.
> 
> FINALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS!!! I'm shy, but I'm going to start making an effort to reply bc that's something worth moving out of my comfort zone for.


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